If you’ve made it this far, let me take a moment to thank you sincerely. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey so far or, at the very least, found it intriguing.
Your continued trust and interest mean the world, and I’m excited to share what lies ahead.
Happy reading, and thank you for staying with the story.
Chapter 24 – Escape
Love watched the titanic battle unfold, hidden away from the devastating blows that shook the ground and the air around her.
The weight of expectations, of decisions made without her consent, was crushing her.
She felt like she had no place, no voice, no choice.
For the first time, the desire to flee burned stronger than her fear.
Thus began her escape.
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As Love ran away from the Tribunal of the Pact, the world around her seemed to pulse in unison with the frantic beat of her heart.
Each step was like a tolling bell, every breath a fractured whisper.
The valley stretching out before her, usually tranquil and unchanging, felt alive, agitated as much as she was.
The green meadow extended like a wave-less sea, stirred only by a gentle wind that caressed her flushed cheeks.
Each blade of grass seemed to sway, whispering something—a call or a warning.
The smell of damp earth and wildflowers was intense, almost suffocating in its freshness. Love felt it seep into her nostrils, an aroma that anchored her yet pushed her to run faster.
The sky above her was a vast expanse of pale blue, almost pristine, streaked with faint clouds hastily painted.
The sun, high above, seemed to follow her, observing her every move, while the shadows of the Tribunal's great columns stretched behind her like claws trying to hold her back.
As she crossed the valley, she felt her bare feet sink into the soft ground, each step reverberating through the muscles of her legs.
Sweat trickled down her forehead, mingling with tears streaming down her face—tears she hadn’t even realized she had begun shedding.
Fear clenched her chest, a knot that stole her breath, but adrenaline coursed through every fiber of her being, fueling the growing sense of freedom that burned like wildfire within her.
She passed through the heart of the valley, leaving behind the fields of wildflowers that painted the landscape in hues of yellow, violet, and red.
Ahead, the sound of the coast began to rise—a whisper growing louder until it became the roaring crash of waves against the rocks.
The sudden salty scent of the sea hit her senses.
The coastline revealed itself as an open horizon—it was the first time she had ever seen the sea.
The cliffs rose majestically, overlooking a sea that shimmered like liquid silver under the sun.
The waves crashed with power, foaming against the dark stone, while seagulls glided above her, their sharp cries blending with the constant rumble of the water.
Love paused for a moment at the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping through her hair, her lungs burning.
Her heart raced, her breath was ragged, her legs trembled, and her skin glistened with exertion.
Yet her eyes sparkled and seemed to smile.
She felt light and alive, as though the weight of expectations had, for the first time, slipped away.
Beyond that infinite sea lay a world she didn’t know, a future yet unwritten.
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At that moment, she noticed a beach below and, with shallow breaths, made her way down to it.
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Her body trembled as she desperately tried to fill her lungs with air.
Her steps were unsteady, hesitant, her labored breathing the only sound breaking the harmony of the waves crashing against the rocks.
Her tear-filled, weary eyes caught sight of an unusual figure ahead, on the beach below.
A short, thin man, almost skeletal, sat on a wooden stool beside a small boat.
His long white beard swayed gently in the wind, and his hands held a cloth that he used with slow, careful motions to wipe the boat's surface, more caressing it than cleaning it.
His movements were delicate, almost tender, as though cherishing the vessel, which, despite its weathered appearance, gleamed under the sun like a jewel.
Not far away stood a crude wooden hut at the edge of the beach.
It was small but tidy, giving the impression of being inhabited by a meticulous person.
The tools hanging on the side of the hut were arranged with obsessive precision: every blade, every hammer, every nail in its place, all perfectly polished, reflecting the sunlight.
Some cloths were hung out to dry, swaying gently like a flag without an emblem.
Next to the hut, a couple of wooden-lidded barrels stood, seemingly holding something precious—possibly alcohol, judging by the faint scent wafting up to the cliff.
> The man: (in a calm, deep voice)
> "It’s rare to see someone on these shores. Who are you really, little shadow?"
> Love: (still panting, her gaze restless and tears in her eyes)
>
> "I... I don’t know anymore. My name is Love.
>
> I ran away... from everything, from everyone. Please, don’t make me go back."
(The man watched her carefully, his gaze seeming to peer beyond the visible, as if reading the girl’s soul. After a long silence, he ran a hand over the boat, as if drawing comfort from its polished wood.)
> The man:
> "Love, you say… You are not here by chance; I can see that. Something immense is consuming you from within, something you do not want to face. Is that so?"
> Love: (lowering her gaze, almost ashamed)
> "I don’t want to face anything... I just want to leave. Beyond this expanse of water, beyond everything tying me to that land. Can you help me? Please, take me away."
(The man tilted his head slightly, his face grave but not hostile. After a brief silence, he approached the boat and placed a hand on its edge, gazing at the sea.)
> The man:
> "My name is Caronte. I have always ferried people from one shore to another.
>
> It is my destiny, my duty.
>
> I could ask why you chose these waves to escape, but I won’t.
>
> Perhaps it was the sea itself that called you."
A brief linguistic note: "Caronte" is the Italian name for "Charon", the famous ferryman from Greek mythology who transports souls across the rivers of the underworld. As the story is originally written in Italian, the name retains its original form to preserve its cultural and mythological essence.
(Love stared at him, incredulous yet hopeful. Caronte, with a gesture of his hand, invited her to join him.)
> Caronte:
> "Very well, little wanderer. Climb aboard. But know this: crossing the water does not mean leaving behind who you are. Where you go, you will carry with you every fragment of what you have been."
(Love nodded, too exhausted to argue. With slow, hesitant steps, she boarded the boat. Charon, with measured movements, pushed the vessel into the water until it floated freely. Then, calmly, he climbed aboard and took hold of the oars.)
> Love: (in a broken voice, almost a whisper)
> "Thank you."
Silence fell between the two as the boat drifted slowly from the shore.
The waves lapped rhythmically against the wood, almost hypnotically.
Love hugged her knees to her chest, the wind tossing her hair, as she gazed at the horizon.
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Caronte began speaking after a brief silence:
> "Have you heard of the River of Memories, child? No, I suppose not.
>
> It’s not a story often told, and perhaps it’s better that way.
>
> They say it flows on a distant planet, a place where not even the Eden dare to tread.
>
> A world shrouded in perpetual silence, far from the lights and clamor of the universe. That planet has no name, for no one who has been there has ever returned to tell of it.
>
> But the river... oh, the river is real."
>
>
Love, still trembling, lifted her gaze to Caronte, intrigued.
> "They say," he continued, "that its waters are such a deep blue they seem almost black, flowing slowly as though carrying the weight of eons of memories.
>
> Anyone who drinks from that river can see every moment of their past as if reliving it.
>
> Lost loves, regrets, triumphs... everything returns, clear as daylight. But not everyone finds comfort in its waters."
>
>
Love tilted her head, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold something inside.
> "And why not?" she asked.
> "Because," Caronte replied with a melancholic smile, "the river doesn’t just show you the past. It makes you feel the weight of what you left behind.
>
> Every joy is followed by the pain of its loss, every triumph shadowed by the regret of what was sacrificed to achieve it.
>
> It is a reflection of truth, pure and unyielding.
>
> Some, unable to bear the sight, throw themselves into the river, becoming part of it.
>
> But there was one... one who used the river differently."
> Love raised an eyebrow, captivated by the story.
> "Who?"
> "Lirion," Caronte said, his tone warming, "a demigod like you, tormented by the weight of his past.
>
> But instead of being overwhelmed, he drank from the waters and saw every mistake, every weakness.
>
> Then, each day, he immersed himself in its waters—not to relive, but to let go.
>
> Day after day, he freed himself from every emotional chain until, one day, he emerged transformed.
>
> Free.
>
> He was no longer afraid of the past, nor of the future."
Caronte paused, letting his words sink into Love’s thoughts.
Then he turned to her, his expression gentle yet firm.
> "Perhaps you will never find the River of Memories, Love.
>
> But I’ll tell you this: you don’t need a river to free yourself from the past.
>
> The strength to do so is already within you.
>
> All you have to do is accept it and let it go."
Love lowered her gaze, reflecting on his words.
The boat continued gliding across the calm water as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.
Thank You for Reading!
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Until next time,
Teo